


I'll Be Damned If I'm Lucky

by a_dangerous_sociopath



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Cowboy Avengers!, F/F, I REGRET NOTHING, I'm not the only one with a cowboy fetish right?, LET'S FIND OUT, Loki is a Georgia Peach, M/M, Shameless references to my favorite spaghetti westerns, There may be some slight role reversals here, They say a flower cannot bloom in the desert, Tony is a hardened gunslinger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dangerous_sociopath/pseuds/a_dangerous_sociopath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is the youngest son of the Odinsons, a family of former plantation owners who lost everything after Sherman's bloody march (or so they'd have you believe.) Tony Stark is a Civil War vet, and occasional member of a posse of train and stagecoach robbers known as the Avengers. Their paths converge on the way to a fresh start, (and maybe a few riches) in the Arizona desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I've ever seen a Western AU in Avengers fanfiction. So please excuse me while I do some guilty pleasure writing. Updates will be pretty sporadic for a while, due to some family issues, but playing with this idea has been a nice escape. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> To give a little bit more context to this without giving anything else away, the year is 1886, and Loki's just barely 21 years old. He is a hot-headed bebe. I wanna pinch his little cheeks and I'll willingly let him stab me in return. That sounds like a fair trade.

It’s hot, in a way that Loki simply isn’t used to. It’s a drier, more scorching heat than any summer he’d ever had to endure in Savannah. The hot dust seems to get everywhere; inside of his clothes, gathering in his boots. Sweat trickles down his brow, now that he’s lost his hat, and the dust even sticks to that. All over he just feels filthy, tired, and sore. He leans against the rock of the canyon wall, the heat of which scorches him even through his clothes, but he doesn’t dare to move, because to do so will give his hiding spot away. His hands shake as he raises his colt revolver, tugging the cylinder out to see how many bullets he has left. Five empty shells, and one bullet.

Loki grits his teeth. Five bullets spent on those damned outlaws, and only one left for him to make a killing shot. He just hoped the distraction he provided had given the driver enough time to bring his mother’s coach to safety. If he was going to die in this hot, disgusting desert, he wanted it to be for a reason.

Loki quiets, hearing footsteps approach. He readies his weapon, holding it up, ready to fire. When the footsteps come closer, Loki pushes away from the rock, feet sliding through the sand, quickly bringing up his weapon, aiming and firing at his assailant.

He hits the target cleanly, and he expects the man to drop. What he doesn’t expect, is a loud, metallic ping and his own bullet bouncing back at him, striking a few inches above his head, and sending a rain of dust and rocks to shower down on him. Loki quickly shields himself from the spray of rock as it rains down on him. In front of him, the outlaw bursts into raucous laughter.

“Time to give it up, Odinson. Come on out here and show me your hands.” The man shouts, and Loki bristles at his tone.

“How do you know me?” He hisses, disobediently cowering back by the rock.

The man approaches him, scratching at the short beard that covers his chin. He’s wearing a dark leather trench coat that goes all the way down to the golden spurs on his knee-length boots. He has a wide brimmed hat that obscures the man’s eyes in shadow. He has black leather gloves that disappear under the arms of the trench coat, and in his right he clutches a strange looking weapon, that didn’t quite resemble the colt revolver Loki was carrying, nor the heavily modified Winchester model that his brother kept with him, and for whatever reason that made it all the more sinister looking to him. All in all, he looks every part the kind of man that would attack a stagecoach carrying a middle-aged woman and her young son in it.

“I read the papers, kid. It would be difficult for me not to recognize the wife of one of the largest plantation owners in all the South. Well, that is until Sherman had his way with ya’ll, ain’t that right?”

Loki’s blood runs cold then, hearing his family’s shameful history thrown back at him. He’d only been a babe, then, not old enough to remember his father’s home before Sherman’s dreadful march. But he knew. His father had been a slave-owner, and as a result, many now had a vendetta against the man. It made growing up hard, but going out west seemed to be the answer. A fresh start for all of them seemed to be the answer. His father had recently purchased a burgeoning silver mine, and his brother had secured a position as sheriff in the adjacent town.

“I guess my only question is what kind of a man would send his young son and wife across the country on their own?”

That wasn’t exactly the truth of the matter, and Loki knew it. But far be it from him to stick his neck out for his old man. Loki certainly had no love for the man, and was only staying with his family to care for his mother, after his father and brother left to make a new future for them out west. So Loki chooses not to rise to the bait for the moment.

“Fine. So you know my name, for all the good that does you out here.” Loki growls, hands curling into fists at his side. “What will you have of me? I have nothing, here.”

The criminal taps his weapon against his thigh, examining him thoughtfully. Loki narrows his eyes at him, beginning to a take a few careful steps backwards.

“Here’s the thing. Your father isn’t quite as destitute as he claims. Never was.” The man shrugs.

“If you mean to take me for ransom, you’re wasting your time.” Loki tells him. “Even if he still had the riches you claim he does. My father and I have no great love for each other.”

That much he knew to be true. His father paid him very little mind growing up, and even as an adult, Loki failed to catch his interests.

The man just smirks. “We’ll just see about that.” He says, as he moves closer, forcing Loki back against the rock face to keep a distance between them.

Loki shakes his head. “I’m not going with you. You’ll have to kill me first! Then you’ll never see your money.” He warns, pressing back even as the man grabs his arm.

The man chuckles. “Yeah well, money isn’t everything, muchacho.”

This was not, by any means, the first brawl Loki had been in. As the man grabs his arm Loki shifts, moving with his free arm to uppercut the man in the jaw. The man makes a frustrated grunt, and a brief struggle ensues. Loki shoves the man back enough for him to see an opportunity to run. He nearly gets succeeds. Loki brushes past the man to dart past him, when suddenly; a blow to the back of the head brings him to his knees. Loki blinks, momentarily dazed as the man approaches him again. Seeing the man approach, Loki scrambles to get up, his hands and knees sliding uselessly in the sand, as the man brings the butt of his weapon down on him again.

Loki’s world goes a hot, blinding white, exploding into pain and evaporating into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tests his new boundaries.

As Loki wakes up, he gradually becomes aware of several important things. First, his head is absolutely pounding. Second, his face is buried in the shoulder of another man, someone he’s leaning up against. Third, he realizes he’s sitting astride a horse, trotting slowly through the hot desert sun. And finally, he feels his hands bound, tied around the waist of the man he’s leaning up against.

Panting softly, he tries to remember what exactly happened. He recalls the stagecoach being attacked. He remembers the look of fright on his mother’s face as two bandits attacked the coach, their faces obscured by bandannas. He recalls grabbing the gun he brought with him, more as a precaution than actually expecting he’d need it, and leaving the coach, attempting to distract the bandits long enough to give his mother time to escape with their driver. He hadn’t actually thought to defeat the two robbers; he wasn’t nearly as accurate a shot as his brother, who could have brought both robbers down with a single shot to each of them. He just wanted to give his mother time to escape.

He remembered one of the men giving chase, a metallic sound, and being cornered in the canyon. He had thought the man meant to kill him. He never, ever expected this.

Loki finally raises his head, moaning as he does, as the piercing bright light of the sun burns into his green eyes. He felt filthy, bedraggled, covered with dust, this stranger’s sweat and his own plastering his dark hair to his forehead. As he moves the man brings his horse to a stop, glancing over his shoulder at Loki.

“Well good morning, huckleberry. Sleep well?” He asks.

Loki growls, trying to yank his arms free of his bindings. “Where are you taking me?” He hisses, struggling against the man.

“We’re going to meet with a couple of friends of mine.” The outlaw tells him, shifting on his mount to dig through one of the pouches hanging from the saddle. Loki clutches to the other man tightly as his bound arms follow the movement, and it threatens to tip him from the horse’s side.

“I’m sure I’m in no way interested in meeting any friends of yours.” Loki all but growls in the man’s ear, as he finishes his search and rights himself back on the saddle.

“I’m sure I in no way gave you a choice. Thirsty?” The man asks, holding up the jug in offering.  Loki glares at it for a moment, as though it would contain something offensive, although it was probably only water. Loki’s probably never felt so parched in his entire life, with his throat dry and his lips cracked and sore, but he’ll be damned if he accepts anything from his kidnapper. He turns his head away defiantly and the man in front of him shrugs. “Hey, it’s your funeral.”

The man takes a long drink, dribbling it down the front of his shirt, and pooling over Loki’s hands, where they’re bound in front of the man’s chest. Loki makes a noise in protest, struggling to pull away, but it is, of course, useless. The man in front of him doesn’t budge an inch, nor does he seem particularly perturbed by Loki’s struggles.  Finally, the man lets out a satisfied noise, recaps his jug and replaces it with the rest of his things, hanging off the side of the saddle. He then takes the reins of the horse, and with a click of his tongue, they’re on their way again.

Loki makes an angry noise, yanking at his bonds again, feeling for the first time in his life, absolutely helpless. “Who are you?” He asks. Receiving silence as his answer, he tries again. “What do you want with me?” Again, there’s no answer from the other man.

Then, angry at being ignored, Loki shifted, bringing his right knee up under his arms and attempting to drive it into the man’s kidney. He lets out a yelp, pulling away sharply at the realization that he hit something. _Hard_. There’s a loud, metallic clang that follows the motion, but Loki hardly notices because that _hurt_. He lets out a loud yelp, and tries to bring his injured knee up to his chest to cradle it, but the position he’s trapped in makes that difficult.

The man in front of him laughs raucously at Loki’s difficulties, throwing his head back, chest heaving.

“How many times are you going to forget about that?” The man asks, heaving slightly in his mirth.

Loki lets out a frustrated shout, leaning forward to bite the back of the man’s exposed neck as hard as he can. The man lets out an all too satisfying squeak, as he quickly brings his mount to a halt.

 He moves, taking a hold of Loki’s bound wrists, and removing a knife from the inside of his coat. He cuts the bindings on Loki’s wrist. Loki watches over the man’s shoulders, holding his breath, fearing that the man was going to cut his arm, as the man seizes one of his freed wrists immediately, and begins to tug Loki forward. Realizing that he’s meant to step off of the horse, Loki swings his right leg over the back of the horse, and lowers himself to the ground. His feet are somewhat unsteady under him, due in part no doubt to the aching head injury and the wound to his knee that’s still fresh. The man keeps a hold of his wrist though, which helps to keep him steady.

With his free hand, the man takes a hold of his gun, cocking the weapon and aiming it squarely at the center of Loki’s forehead. Loki tenses up slightly, staring down the barrel of that cold weapon, and wondering if he’d infuriated the man enough to murder him outright. Instead, the man releases his wrist.

“You want to escape from my clutches? Earn it. Start walking.”

Loki stumbles back, stunned.

“You’re letting me go?” He asks, confused.

The man snorts. “Course not. I’m making you earn it. Find your own way out of this desert, and I’ll let you go.”

Loki glances up to him, before eying their surroundings warily. He sees nothing much more than sand, rock formations, and a few scattered cacti that seemed alien and strange to his young southern eyes.

“I don’t know where we are.” He confesses, looking to the man.

“Then get back up here and shut up.” The man tells him, patting his knee. Loki step back, repulsed by the idea of riding in front of the man like that and shakes his head.

“No!” Loki tells him quickly, looking around. He has no idea which way to go that won’t get him killed. Besides that, his injuries were throbbing. No matter what way he picked, he wouldn’t get far, especially not without water, or something to protect him from the intense sun. His prospects were looking very, very bad.

It was nothing he couldn’t deal with, he told himself. He was in the best shape of his life. Surely he could handle crossing the desert. Anything was preferable to staying in the company of this insufferable brute.

Loki tries to think. When he was captured, he was sure there had only been about 12 miles to the next town. He has no real idea where the man has taken him since then. Taking a guess He begins to walk, or limp, really, considering his knee, in a westerly direction. He thinks he’s going west. It was a little hard to tell, with the sun so high the sky above him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise when he hears the horse fall into an easy trot behind him. He stops abruptly, turning to glare at the other man.

“What are you doing?” Loki demands.

The man, still sitting astride his horse, smirks. “Following you.” He says, as though it were the most obvious thing.

“Why?” Loki asks.

The man gives Loki an easy grin.

“Because if you fail to find your own way out, you’re getting right up here and riding with me back to camp.” He says, and his tone brooked no room for argument.

Loki swallows the rising lump in his throat, before turning back around, a new determination coming over him to get the hell out.

He begins to walk again.

The sun is the single most oppressive thing about his new surroundings. It beats down on him mercilessly, drawing moisture from his body, and heating the air to unbearable temperatures before he can even take a breath. He can practically see the heat rising from the desert floor. Before he can stop himself Loki picks at his own clothing, pulling his shirt from his chest and letting it fall to the desert floor, if only to relieve some of the intolerable heat. It doesn’t help, and only exposes more of his pale skin to the sun’s fury.

His knee is beginning to swell, and his throat and mouth have never been so dry. He’s beginning to get tired, too, as his body urges him to rest. It’s only the presence of the man behind him, the nose of his horse pushing into his back that makes him continue on.

Loki has to stop to catch his breath, and stares at the man behind him. “How can you stand this?” He asks, and he doesn’t like the cracked sound of his voice when he says it.

“I have a horse.” The man points out. “And water. And a hat. And the added benefit of not being a damned sissy. Now you gonna come here and sit in my lap like the pretty little thing you are, or are you going to quit your bellyaching and be a man?”

Loki glares at him. “Go boil your shirt.” He snarls, prompting a laugh from the man as he turns to continue on.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking until he suddenly reaches a wall. He tries to put one foot in front of the other, but his body is weak, his skin burns and his injuries ache. He feels his body being pulled down by some invisible force, attempting to bring him to collapse. That’s when he hears the man’s hateful laugh behind him.

“Give up?” He asks, and Loki grunts, stepping forward stubbornly. He wants to respond, but finds he can’t get the scratching of his dry throat to resemble anything so close to the English language, so he stubbornly continues on in silence.

Try as he might, he just can’t bring himself to go much further. When he falls, he just barely manages to catch himself, hunkering down into a sitting position, panting heavily.

The man brings his horse to a stop, and Loki can hear him dismount. Loki doesn’t have the strength to resist when the man slides his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, yanking his head backwards. Then, the man places his water jug at his lips, tipping it forward. Loki drinks, lacking the will power to resist.

“Right. You’re coming with me then.”

Loki wants to cry at hearing that, but even his eyes feel crusty and dry. Besides that, he understands now that he doesn’t have a choice. It’s either go with him, or let the desert creatures glean the meat from his sun bleached bones.

He doesn’t resist as the man tugs him back to his mount, tugging him onto the horse, sitting astride the other man’s lap. He lays his head back against the other man’s shoulder, and hangs loosely in his arms as the man reaches around him and grabs the reins. The man directs his stead in the opposite direction in which Loki had been walking all this time, and begins to lead them out of the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to follow my other boring personal sites?
> 
> a-dangerous-sociopath.tumblr.com
> 
> hellscomingwithme.deviantart.com


	3. Chapter 3

The Painted Hills Silver Mining Town was still relatively young, having only been established the year previously. In 1881, a couple of young men staking out claims in the area discovered the land to be rich with silver and borate deposits. That following year Mr. Odinson bought out each and every one. Where he had the money to do this is a matter of some debate, considering that a mere fifteen years prior he, like many of his countrymen claimed to have been wiped out by Northern pillagers.

Without any way to prove that he was up to no good, the matter remained in the arena of public conjecture.

Still, the discovery of silver in the area meant work for many young men, and the town sprang up around the needs of the miners. Miners built homes for their families, merchants came to town to sell their wares. When badmen began to frequent the small community, Odinson’s eldest son ran for the office of Sheriff and won easily.

By 1885, the town was one of the fastest growing in the state, with three hotels, two brothels, five saloons, and a rapidly booming population, ready to rival that of other growing silver rush towns in the state. Odinson built a large home for himself, nearly as comfortable as the ones he’d grown accustomed to living back east. It was at this time that he felt comfortable enough to send for the family he left behind, his wife, and his youngest son.

They began their journey in early 1886, and they very nearly made it unscathed.

~

When Steve arrived at the Sheriff’s Office that morning he wasn’t entirely surprised to find Thor already there, seated at his desk and cleaning his rifle. He was usually the first among them to check in, finishing up the week’s paperwork before setting out on his rounds. There was something off about the man this morning, though, from the grim look about him that wasn’t the man’s normal, optimistic self. He barely acknowledged Steve as he entered the building.

“Thor.” Steve says, finally getting the young man’s attention. As Thor looked up he noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and the overall shattered look about him. Steve sighed. Things had been intense for everyone lately, in their small town, and Thor tended to take the brunt of it, being the sheriff. Steve tried to make things easier on him, and help out when he could, but sometimes there was only so much you could do.

“You haven’t been sleeping…” He says worriedly, moving to his superior’s side. “What’s happened now?”

Thor chews as his bottom lip, as he sets the cloth he’d been using to clean the rifle aside, reaching for the box of cartridges sitting atop the desk.

“My mother’s coach came in late last night.” He says, as he loads his weapon. “She was alone.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at that, moving to rest his hip along the sheriff’s desk. “Did she leave Savannah alone?” He asks, knowing the answer to his question already. He has the feeling he’s not going to like this story.

“No. She had a driver, and my brother with her. Sometime yesterday they were assaulted, by two bandits looking to rob them.” Thor says, cocking his weapon. “My brother left the coach to fight the men off, and the driver was killed. He had just enough life in him to get my mother to safety, and eventually died of his injuries. She had to drive the coach back on her own.”

Steve winces, reaching out a gentle hand to place on Thor’s forearm. “I’m sorry, Thor.” He says quietly.

Thor shrugs lightly; as he places his treasured weapon aside and begins to work with a pistol he keeps at his side.

“I’m going out on the road tonight, to search for my brother. Mother believes him kidnapped.” Thor says.

Steve frowns, crossing his own arms over his chest. “Did she actually see him get taken?” He asks seriously.

“No. But I do not like to think of the alternative.”

Steve winces, thinking of this gentle man’s brother, broken and bleeding and left for dead in the unforgiving desert.

“Do you want me to help you search?” Steve asks.

Thor shook his head.

“No, I need you to stay here back in town. We had a few riders show up in town last night. They’ve been a little rowdy, but we have no warrants on any of them, and they haven’t done anything outrageous, so I just need you to keep an eye on things, for now.”

Steve ponders this for a moment, before having a moment of clarity. “Those Chitauri boys.” He says, looking to Thor. The man nods.

“You think they could be after our prisoner?” Steve mentions, nodding towards the cells in the back of the building. “They’ve butted heads in the past.” He notes.

“The Marshal comes to pick him up and take him to Tucson in three days. We have to make sure he’s alive to stand trial.” Thor mentions.

“Right, so they can execute him by Sunday.” Steve says, unhappily. He takes a seat on Thor’s desk, sliding back a bit to get comfortable. He might as well; he figures he’ll be spending the rest of his day here, anyways, babysitting the prisoners.

“If that’s what they decide.” Thor says simply. “You don’t know the outcome for sure.”

Steve shrugs. “He did wrong. But the least we can do is make sure he gets to his trial in one piece.”

Thor nods, finishing up with his weapons and setting them in their holsters. “The other deputies won’t be far. They’re out on patrol now. If you need help, they shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“I’ll be fine. Those Chitauri boys don’t scare me.” Steve says, flashing Thor a little grin. Thor returns a fond smile, before turning to head out the door.

Steve fakes a cough into the crook of his elbow to get Thor’s attention. “You forgetting something Sheriff?” Steve drawls playfully, watching the other man as he comes to a halt. Thor turns around, snaps his fingers, and returns to where Steve’s sitting on the desk.

“You’re right.” He says, moving over to where Steve’s sitting on the desk. Thor makes it a point to move in very, very close to Steve, so that they’re very nearly pressed flush against each other, chest to chest. Steve’s breath quickens, watching the man he’d come to know very, very well in the past few days. Their lips were so close, Steve could lean forward, crossing the few inches between them and just…

“My coffee.” Thor says, as he pointedly reaches around Steve and grabs the cup off of the desk. Steve scoffs as Thor puts the clay mug to his lips, downing the beverage in one gulp. “Thanks, Steve.” He says, starting to move away.

Steve quickly grabs onto one of belt loops of Thor’s jeans and tugs him in again. “Try again.”

Thor frowns, as though considering it. “I don’t know, Steve. I’ve got my guns, handcuffs, and my coffee, what else could I…”

Steve leans forward then, quickly cutting off the man’s teasing with a kiss. Thor tastes like his favorite drink, and the heat of his body up against his reminds Steve of a roiling Texas summer storm, the lighting and wind crashing wild and uncontrolled. Thor’s free hand slides down his spine, caressing along his waist before settling on his hip and even the gentle heat from that is soothing to Steve’s bones.

When they need to break for air, they’re both flushed, cheeks pink with heat. Steve releases him afterwards, sinking back against the desk.

“Now you may go.” Steve tells him cheekily. Thor grins widely, leaning in to nip at Steve’s lips one last time, before forcing himself away.

Steve watches him leave with a sigh, before sliding into the sheriff’s chair for what is sure to be a relatively uneventful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was time for an exposition chapter I APOLOGIZE
> 
> I tried to sweeten the deal with some Thor/Steve stuff xoxo
> 
> This is probably all I'm getting done for the week, since I have a funeral to go to this weekend and I don't imagine I'm going to want to be writing until that's over and done with. Soooo no clue when the next chapter will be sorry 
> 
> You can come bitch at me at my other sites though I don't mind I like it when people bitch at me :3
> 
> a-dangerous-sociopath.tumblr.com
> 
> hellscomingwithme.deviantart.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Thor and Loki are closer to each other than they realize.

Thor very nearly missed the only clue he had to his brother’s disappearance.

It didn’t take him long to find the place where his mother told them the bandits had laid them up. The problem was, it was a common stagecoach road. It was unpaved and dangerous, and yet, a lot of people used it to get to and fro safely between the two cities. The road was marked by hardened dirt that had been packed together from stagecoach wheels pressing into it repeatedly. That made it hard to distinguish between the tracks he’d found there, since even people becoming confused and leaving the road wasn’t entirely uncommon.

Having spent the better part of a day shifting through the sand for some sign that hadn’t been corrupted by ignorant travelers; he was about ready to give up when he notices something. Out of the corner of his eye, something glinted brightly, standing out in the dull brownish red of the desert sand. Thor leaves the road, guiding his mount in that direction.

He very nearly reaches the entrance of the canyon when he begins to notice things that don’t quite look right. Someone had been there, recently. This wouldn’t even be all that uncommon either; only, these tracks seemed to sink into the dirt, telling him that they’d been carrying something heavy.  As moves closer to the canyon’s edge he finds the object that had caught his attention: a colt revolver, with an ivory grip. His eyes narrow on the object as he moves closer to it, seeing his family’s crest emblazoned in gold on the side; there was no doubt in his mind that this was his brother’s weapon, which he’d given to him before leaving Georgia, all those years ago.

For all the disdain his brother seemed to have for him, Loki was in no way foolish enough to merely discard his weapon. Not out here, not in the middle of the desert, where one would need it most.

Thor dismounts, picking up the revolver and holding it close. He popped open the cylinder, counting six empty shells.  With a frown, he moves towards the mouth of the canyon, finding another set of tracks, and eventually, signs of a scuffle.

A picture begins to form in his mind: Loki leaving the stagecoach in an attempt to draw the bandits off. One of the bandits gives chase, and follows his brother into the canyon.  At some point, his brother discharges the pistol, firing until he empties the gun. Thor couldn’t know if any of his shots landed, but what he could see, was that at some point Loki was overpowered, and carried, without much effort, out of the canyon. Alive, more than likely, because why bother carrying a corpse out of the canyon when the elements of the desert would quickly wipe away all evidence  of the crime without any effort on the criminal’s part?

Thor tucks the empty revolver into his belt, moving back to the horse waiting for him outside. He knows now that he isn’t going to find his brother anywhere near here.  It was time to head back to Painted Hills, and question the new visitors who’d arrived in town the night before. Perhaps, if pressed the right way, the Chitauri boys would be happy to give him the answers he needed.

~

Loki is sound asleep when the horse comes to an abrupt stop, jerking him forward uncomfortably. It’s only the arm around his waist that keeps him from toppling over and falling off of the horse. He glances up, seeing the wide grin on his captor’s face, and it makes him instantly wary.

“You awake now?” He asks, seeming to check him over. Loki looks up at the other man, nodding softly.

“Yes.” He says carefully, already trying to pull away from him. He doesn’t have far to move, however, and the reminder of that in the arm wrapped around him only proves to infuriate him further.

“Good. Sorry I have to do this.”

Loki narrows his eyes at the other man. “What are you-”

But before he can question any of this, the man pulls a burlap sack over his head, pulling it tight around his neck. Before Loki can do much as shout in response, the man’s hand comes down again, covering his mouth through the rough fabric.

“Keep your damn mouth shut; I’m not hurting you!” The man tells him, although Loki would beg to differ. The next thing he knows, they’re moving. The man pushes them off of the horse, landing together on the ground. The man keeps his hand over his mouth as he begins to push him forward, Loki stumbling a bit awkwardly as he struggles to keep up on his bad knee. Loki tries to resist, struggling to move away from the man, when he feels another set of hands on him, grabbing his arms and twisting them up behind his back.

“Stark.” He hears a new voice growl, as he’s led away all too easily, despite his fighting. “What kind of half-cocked horse shit have you gone and gotten yourself into this time?”

“Relax, Nick.” He hears the man he came with reply. “Brought you a gift.”

Loki hears the ground beneath him change; his boots now clicking on what sounded like a wooden floor. He hears the sounds of an old, wooden door creaking on his hinges, and the slight relief of finally being pulled out of the sun. Somewhere in the building, he can hear the noise of raucous piano playing, laughter, and people chatting. He’s led away from it, taken to another part of the building out of the public eye.

“If you think I wanted some beat up white boy as a gift…”

“Nick. Relax.” The man Loki now knows as Stark replies. “I’ll explain everything in a minute. Now watch his steps.”

As if on cue, Loki nearly falls again when the floor suddenly drops beneath his feet, and would have tumbled if not for the restraining hands on his limbs. He realizes he’s on a staircase, being led downstairs, and again his heart begins to pound wondering what kind of fate he’s being led to. It’s surprisingly cool down there, compared to the oppressive heat and the sun upstairs.

With their help, Loki reaches the landing, and then he’s being pushed forward again. He isn’t sure how far they’ve gone when he hears the sound of another door being opened, and he finds himself being shoved through again, stumbling as he’s released, left to sprawl against the hard wooden floor. He gasps as he hits his knee; the pain from the old injury sprang up anew and stole the breath from his very lungs.

Loki rips the sack from his head, tossing it aside as he turns to confront his captors, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to ignore the pain. Lacking his usual grace, he spins around, facing them just in time for the door to be slammed in his face, plunging him, and the room, into darkness. He could just make out the metallic scraping of a key turning into a lock, keeping Loki hidden away inside. Loki slowly sinks into a crouch, tired and sore and thirsty as hell, panting softly, as he tries to think of a way out of this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, everyone who left me condolences here and on tumblr you are very sweet, and I appreciate it greatly. :)
> 
> Second, just a small update, and hopefully the next chapter will get the plot going a bit more.
> 
> Finally, you can find me at~
> 
> a-dangerous-sociopath.tumblr.com
> 
> hellscomingwithme.deviantart.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think of the Avengers in this universe, not quite as an organized crime syndicate, but more like a group of loosely affiliated thieves and murderers who rob from everyone and give to themselves. (It's that whole role-reversal thing I was warning you guys about.)
> 
> And despite that, they still have something of a code. Granted, it's a code that isn't clearly defined, and its definitions change from time to time, but they try to have one. It's basically along the lines of 1), You take care of your own. and 2), You can leave when you're dead.
> 
> Not sure if this explanation will do anything for you, but there it is, lol.

Tony groans as he returns from the basement, that god-awful piano is dire need of tuning, and he’s grown particularly weary of the drunkards that crowd this place, the ones that would live there if not for the fact that this town’s curfew was strictly enforced.

He kicks aside a man who had collapsed in a drunken stupor close to the staircase, his nose curling up at the smell of him, and makes his way to the bar.

There’s an unopened bottle of tequila sitting on the bar, and he scoops it up, popping off the cork and tossing it wherever. For all that he’d been putting up a front for his prisoner; the desert really had taken a toll on his body and mind. While he knows that tequila is certainly not going to fix the dehydration he’s feeling, it’ll go a long way towards helping him relax, something he’d not been able to do since the day his comrade in arms had been arrested. He feels rather than sees Fury behind him, glaring a rather impressive hole into his back. He decides to let him stew for a few more minutes. He was tired, and in no mood to deal with the man.

“Stark.” He hears Fury growl, and Tony cannot for the life of him believe that Fury is willing to hash this out here and now in the public eye. What if someone heard? He levels a glare at the man, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Later, Nick. We’ll discuss it later.”

“Now.” Fury demands and Tony can’t help but envision the man as an unruly infant, making demands of him and his time.

“I just got back from a job, could you give me just five minutes?” Tony asks, resolutely NOT whining the request. “By the way, you seen Coulson?”

Fury doesn’t budge, nor deign to answer his question about his partner. Tony sighs, turning back towards the bar on his stool.

“Tony!” He hears a woman bark, and Tony grins, turning sharply into the familiar red-head’s direction.

“Pep!” Tony says cheerfully, looking to the woman he’d known since his teenage years. Even now, well into their adulthood she appeared as though unchanged but for the appearance of very faint lines next to her eyes. Otherwise, the friend that he treasured remained, as ever, unchanged, and it never failed to cheer him.

Hell, she even looks almost happy to see him this time. She was actually smiling.

He pushes away from the bar, holding his arms out in greeting to her.

“How ya doing beautiful? I’ve missed you.” He says, moving in to embrace the woman delicately. She returns the hug, still smiling as she envelopes him in return. God he’d missed her.

“I’ve missed you too.” The woman says softly, as she slowly wraps her arms around Tony. Tony smiles into the woman’s hair, turning his nose to nuzzle into the rust colored strands, when he hears a faint click of a gun being cocked directly behind his ear. Tony sighs, feeling Pepper’s arms tighten around him to keep him in place. No wonder she’d been so happy to see him.

“Hi Tash.” He says cheerfully, raising his hands up in surrender as the other red-head in his life ignores the greeting and efficiently digs around in his pockets, producing his billfold. Pepper releases her hold on him as Natasha removes the greenbacks in there, along with a few silver coins and tosses the empty leather pouch back at him.

Tony catches it from the air, sinking back into his seat and snatching the tequila from the bar again as he watches the women count his money. He was seriously starting to regret making that bet. (Or rather, losing it.)

“I think that’ll nearly cover this month’s installment.” Pepper says, sounding pleased as she takes the money from Natasha and slips it into her bustle. “Thank you, Tony; it’s been nice doing business with you.” She adds cheekily.

“How did I ever let you get away from me, Pep?” Tony asks, eyeing his tequila and deciding he’s going to need much, much more than what he was being provided with here.

“Probably because I said ‘no.’” Pepper replies, as she moves back towards the bar. “Feel like telling me who you and Fury just shoved into the basement?” She asks sweetly.

Grousing slightly, Tony picks up the bottle he’d drunk from, ignoring the question for now in favor of leveling a glare at Fury. “Really? You were just going to stand there and not say anything?”

He returns the glare with a slight upturn of his lips, because Nick Fury never smiled much more than that, at least whenever Tony was in the room. “Every time Natasha gets the drop on you, I pray that this time will be the glorious moment she finally pulls the trigger.” Fury answers, pushing away from his spot on the wall.

“Cute. I love you too.”

“Tony…” Pepper says warningly, as she goes to get his attention again. Natasha hangs close to her side, arms folded over her chest, the expression she wears telling him that he better start talking, and make it fast.

Tony balances his drink on the edge of the bar, watching the clear liquid slosh to the side as it teeters precariously on the edge. “You know Thor Odinson? The sheriff that locked up Clint? That kid we just took down there? That’s his brother.”

Fury’s face falls. Behind him, Pepper lets out a small gasp.

“Have you lost your mind?” Natasha whispers.

Tony rolls his eyes as the saloon’s patrons seem to go quiet, picking up on the tension of place’s keepers.

“Louder, Natasha, I don’t think the piano player heard you.” He grabs his tequila, jerking his chin towards the back and moving towards the back rooms, followed closely by Fury and Natasha. Pepper remains behind to tend the bar while they disappear into one of the halls, towards back rooms they occasionally use for meetings.

In the hallway, Phil Coulson, his partner on the last heist, is standing guard. Or, more accurately, sitting guard in a wooden chair, his hat tugged down over his eyes as he dozes peacefully. Tony lets out a little sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen the man since they’d been separated on that last job, and he’d been worried, despite the fact the man probably knew the area and all its various communities better than any of them. Tony nudges his shoulder with the bottom of his bottle, nearly knocking him off of the chair when he jerks awake. Coulson catches himself, pushing the brim of his hat up to give Tony a smirk. “Oh, I see you survived.” Coulson says smugly, smirking despite the jab.

“Har har. Yeah, about the heist. Get up; we’ve got things to discuss.” Tony replies, jabbing him in the shoulder again with the bottle, before heading towards the back room again.

Once inside, Fury makes sure to lock the door behind him, while Tony grabs a chair at the front of the room. Natasha takes a seat nearby, and Coulson sits close beside her. Tony would have liked for Bruce and Maria to be there, but Bruce would be at the clinic for a few more hours, and Maria was keeping an eye on things miles away, in Painted Hills. This would have to do for now. They all look at Tony expectantly.

Tony clears his throat. “This is better. Now, as I was saying…”

“Have you lost your mind?” Natasha hisses at him again, and Tony gives her an annoyed look. “That family has more than enough money and political clout to make you disappear forever. Christ, his father’s been considering a bid for Governor, assuming we get statehood. “

Tony nods, as though he’d already given her concerns some thought. He glances to Fury. “That how you feel about it?” He asks.

Fury shrugs. “I’m not worried about getting caught.” He says. “Although I’m not too sure the sheriff would be willing to trade for our man.”

“It’s his _brother_.” Tony protests.

“How do you know he likes his brother?” Fury asks.

Tony sighs, looking to Coulson. “What you think?”

Coulson shrugs. “Well, it’s better than our other plan: Wait around and see if we can slip him out the back door.”

“That’ll get someone killed, there’s always someone watching him.” Tony points out.

“What do we care, so long as it’s one of them, and not one of our own?” Fury asks, looking to Tony.

Tony grits his teeth. “What about Steve?”

“So what? He turned on us. Let the coward take the fall.” Natasha says with a shrug.

Tony frowns, playing with the lip of his bottle again. “That don’t sit right with me.”

“’Cause you two were buggering.” Fury says, rolling his eyes.  “Time to move on, Stark. If he cared so damn much you about he wouldn’t have left.”

Tony bites his lip, still sloshing the liquid in the bottle.  He hadn’t actually drunk from it in a while, and the liquid inside was getting warm, perspiration gathering at the top of the bottle. “It wasn’t like that.” He finally speaks up.

It goes quiet in the room for a moment, as though the group was all waiting for Tony to elaborate. When he didn’t, Natasha coughed quietly.

“So… is this what we’re doing? Offering to trade the little Odinson for Clint?” She asks, seeking a consensus.

Coulson shrugs. “What the hell? We’ve done worse, with schemes more half-cocked than this one.”

“It’s your show, Stark. Work out the details, and we’ll back you. Maybe see if we can’t get a little of Daddy Odinson’s money too.” Fury decides.

“Kindly request some of that infamous Odinson gold.” Tony says with a smirk. “We can do that. Tash?”

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” She says tilting her head towards Stark. “But since your minds all seem to be made up.”

She leans back in her chair a bit, reaching to play with the spurs on her boot.  “What’s your plan? Gonna write the sheriff a love letter? Send us our boy and the money and we’ll leave the babe unharmed?”

“Yeah, something like that. But not by me. Steve will know my writing.” Tony says.

“I’ll do it. I can have it on his doorstep by tonight.” She remarks.

Tony gives her a side long look. “Is that a good idea? You have any warrants out in this territory?”

“She’s clear. I have three, Coulson has five…” Fury says, glancing to the other man, who simply smirks in reply. “Stark’s just hasn’t been caught out here yet.”

“Then Tasha it’s you.” Tony says, scooting his chair closer to her, and the woman nods. “Coulson, could you do me a favor?” He asks.

“What?” Coulson asks.

“Check on that kid every so often, make sure he’s watered and fed?” Tony asks.

“Hell do I look like, a goddamn zookeeper?” Coulson asks, though from the look on his face Tony knows he’s clearly teasing.

“Damn right you do. Gotta start pulling your weight around here sometime.” Tony sends right back.

“Fine. There’s probably some intensely foul coosh leftover from breakfast somewhere. I’ll scrape it up off the kitchen floor.” Coulson says.

“That’ll work. Just make sure he’s more or less alive for the exchange.” Tony says, as he moves in to hammer out the details with Natasha.

~

Steve had just finished his rounds when he spotted her. She had the most severe red hair of any Russian immigrant he’d ever met. It made her difficult to forget, if you survived the encounter in the first place. Steve was fortunate enough to say that he had.

The girl was ducking out of a local market, a few purchases in her basket, and she was making her way back towards the stables, her back turned away from Steve.

“Tash.” He called out, using the name her team-mates used to get her attention.

Natasha paused, turning to give Steve a hard look. It hadn’t been often, during their time as associates, that he’d been on the receiving end of that look, and it stung more than he thought it would have. He hadn’t exactly parted company with the Avengers on good terms, but some small part of him still considered them friends, despite everything.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Rogers.” She replies, spitting out his name like poison, the heavy accent twisting her tongue so that Steve had to take a step back, as though he’d been physically struck.

Yeah, that pretty much told him all he needed to know about where he stood with the group these days.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry.” He murmurs, which was ridiculous, because he still considered himself in the right. Leaving the Avengers had been the better choice. Some of the jobs they’d done, the robberies, the innocent people caught in the crossfire never quite sat right with him. He’d rather hoped some of them would see why and join him, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen.

Natasha scoffs. “Not nearly sorry enough.” She spits, as she hikes up her skirts and practically storms in the other direction.

“Give Tony my regards?” He calls after her hopefully. He receives a low chuckle in return.

“I certainly will not.” Natasha replies, and before he can say anything else, the woman is gone, disappeared into the crowd.

Steve watches after, feeling like he’d just been slapped in the face. It was no less than he deserved, he supposed. He turns back in the direction of the sheriff’s office.

Upon walking through the door, Steve pauses. On the floor, looking like it had just been pushed through the mail slot, was a plain white envelope, with Thor’s name scrawled across the top in a shaky hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a-dangerous-sociopath.tumblr.com
> 
> hellscomingwithme.deviantart.com

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at one of my obnoxious personal sites!
> 
> a-dangerous-sociopath.tumblr.com
> 
> hellscomingwithme.deviantart.com


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